We remembered the old ghost stories, and we told one another that there would be many new stories like that. Personally, I don’t believe in the existence of spirits, but that’s not the point. If people say they see ghosts, then that’s fine—we can leave it at that.
—Masashi Hijikata
the old woman who visits me for tea is dead but I don’t have the heart to tell her
every time I see my mother there’s a pool of seawater in her room
and still no one’s removed that boat off the top of the Sumitomo’s building
if a boat can get all the way up there what keeps us from disappearing into the sky
like the woman who walks each morning across the ocean and back I wonder where I’m going now
what can I talk to my friend about these days I still have my son
who collects the things found on the beach someone’s television set a rusted refrigerator
a woman says that soon this city will be filled by God but is God a tsunami that takes years to drain out
the phone calls I get are from numbers that don’t exist
my husband calls his friends several times a day how are you? how are you? just in case
Otsuchi becomes a great washing machine again tumbling us in and out of memories
it’s come to the point I can’t even go out in the rain anymore that’s when I see
puddles like the eyes of dead people what can I do put them in a cup
my daughters were lined up like bowling pins outside the school waiting for the earthquake
why didn’t I keep her home from school that day she complained about her throat
every day someone new is sick whatever we try to rebuild is barricaded by ghosts
even taxi drivers refuse to go to Sendai afraid of catching ghosts
one man’s address led to a concrete slab the man was gone but the driver opened the door
just in case I was never high enough I kept climbing the stairs but how do you outrun an ocean
with all the old houses cleared and the new ones rising it’s becoming hard to remember what we looked like before